


Losing Battles

by avenginghunters, lionor



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, musician kirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:06:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avenginghunters/pseuds/avenginghunters, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionor/pseuds/lionor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones can't help but listen when a young musician plays him a song about home and love. And Jim can't help but want to know this irascible doctor he suddenly calls a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Losing Battles

Leonard McCoy had walked by that corner a thousand times on the way back from the hospital. Long shifts and an affinity for emergency cases left him exhausted most days, but he always passed by that corner for him. 

Jim played that corner to watch the people. Strumming his guitar took very little concentration these days, and no one really cared to stop and listen in the cold. But today he wanted to be heard. He watched as the doctor walked by and caught his eye, giving a cheeky smile. “Hey, sir, you want a tune?”

McCoy jumped when the tall blond spoke. He’d passed a thousand times without incident, never stopping to listen or throw a buck in the guitar case, but the man’s broad smile and intense blue eyes put a stutter in his step that he couldn’t ignore. “What can you play, kid?”

Jim grinned again. “Talk to me for thirty seconds about anything you want and I’ll pick a song to suit you. Deal? I’ll even do it for free.”

McCoy struggled for a few seconds for a topic, but soon settled on one as the frigid wind stung his eyes. “It’s freezin’ out here.”

“Really? You’re going to talk about the weather?”

“Shut it, kid. Let me finish. It isn’t this cold back home ya know. You haven’t lived ‘til you’ve seen a Georgia summer. Hotter than a cast iron skillet and you’d be lucky to find some shade anywhere. First time I ever saw snow was when I moved here. I miss home sometimes.” McCoy couldn’t believe he’d said all that. Everyone knew he was from Georgia because of his accent, but no one knew how much he missed it, especially when the weather turned frigid and it didn’t seem like the spring would ever come. 

Jim nodded and stretched his fingers. “It’s a little brisk, I’ll give you that.” He chuckled a little and twisted the tuning nobs. “ _Georgia, Georgia,_ ” he crooned, “ _the whole day through_.” His voice was a little husky with the cold, but well in tune and just loud enough to hear over the noise of the traffic. He finished the chorus and then stopped. “That’s not quite you, though, is it? Maybe something more like this,” and with that he struck a quietly major chord. “ _How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes...Awake, my soul._ ”

Bones listened through the song and could barely meet the puppy eyes that stared back at him.

“How’d I do?”

“Not quite there, kid.” McCoy grinned sheepishly before shoving his hands in his pockets. “Better luck next time.” He began walking away, relishing in the sound of a hurriedly packed guitar and the voice behind him. 

_Damn, I thought I’d nailed him._ “Hey, look, I didn’t mean to offend if you aren’t into the whole soul thing or whatever. But give me another chance? Or an excuse to get out of the cold.” The man raised his eyebrows skeptically. “So what I’m from Iowa? You can’t wear gloves to play the guitar.”

“There’s a coffee shop around the corner.” McCoy waited for the man to pack his guitar properly and led him to the shop. He was certain the man knew of it, everyone who knew the neighborhood did, but he still liked suggesting coffees or the multitude of small snacks they stocked. They sat at a small table in the corner of the bright shop, far removed from the bustle of the 9 to 5 workers hurrying through their lunch break. 

“So, kid. What brings you to these streets with that thing?” McCoy could judge people quite accurately, it came from being a doctor, and this man didn’t seem like a street kid, nor did he strike McCoy as a struggling artist of any sort. His clothes were worn, but clean and not too outdated to suggest he was any of the many wandering homeless that called wherever they ended up home. 

The man grinned, but some of the light faded from his eyes. “I got bored, I guess. My name’s Jim, by the way. Jim Kirk.” Bored was hardly even a partial truth, but he didn’t like explaining himself. “You work at the clinic, or something? I’ve seen you walk by before. Towards this coffee shop, I’m assuming? A waitress already has a drink up for you.” Indeed, a young barista was waving at the pair, holding a steaming cup.

The waitress’s name was Gaila, and she’d served McCoy the same coffee for over a year since he started at the hospital. He went to retrieve both he and Jim’s coffees, and was met by Gaila’s enthusiastic whispers and her coworkers’ equally enthusiastic giggles. 

“We knew you’d bring someone back here eventually. What’s his name? Where’d you meet him? My boy’s growing up so fast.” Leonard rolled his eyes at Gaila’s faux mothering. He was 10 years her senior, but still flushed a little when she mentioned any romantic possibility with the younger man. Jim couldn’t be more than 30, but being a divorcee tended to skew your perception of your own age enough to make a ten-year age difference seem impossible to overcome. 

“His name’s Jim, and it’s none of your damn business.” He turned away, but knew Gaila would be making her fake pouting face behind his back. 

He carried the coffees back to the table. “So, bored? You were bored enough in Iowa to freeze your ass off in this city for 5 bucks a day?” The estimate of Jim’s financial state was probably very optimistic. He was a good player, but no one was generous enough with street performers for them to make a living. “And yeah. I work in the emergency room.”

“Ooh, trauma and gore and stuff. That must be…fascinating.” Jim chuckled. “But you never gave me your name. Should I make one up? You know what, I will anyway. Bones. Because that’s probably what you fix.” _Not people like me._ He took a tentative sip. “Damn, that’s some good coffee. I can see why you come here so much.”

“It’s Leonard. Leonard McCoy.” He felt a flash of unwarranted concern at the man’s tone. He barely knew him, but there he was, investing himself in the wellbeing of a stranger. “Yeah, they make a good cup here.” He tentatively tasted his own cup of strong black coffee. He knew it would be good but Gaila had replaced his coffee with decaf more than once as a joke.

“So…doctor, coffee aficionado, what else is there? I mean, what else do you need?” Jim grinned a little awkwardly and fiddled with the coffee stir. “And a long career ahead of you, I’m sure. I kind of wish now I’d gone to school for something more useful than classical guitar, you know, something so I could have helped people with. But…I mean, music’s important too, right? Brighten everyone’s day on the streets.” He took a swig of coffee and hurriedly covered his mouth. “Damn, that is hot.”

Leonard took a second to admire the ridiculous faces he was pulling while reacting to the hot coffee before answering. 

“It takes all kinds of kinds, Jim. I can’t do what you do, and I’m sure you would never want to do what I do. The wins are awe-inspiring and worth the pain, but they’re few and far between. There’s so much hurt in my line of work, and sometimes I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle with the violence in this damn city.” 

“Losing battles. Yeah, I can understand that.” He grimaced wryly and swirled his coffee pensively. _The guy is too nice to burden with my battles. But none of that now, might as well have fun._ “So, Bones, tell me about the wins. Tell me about the children you help and the women that love you for your service. And maybe tomorrow I’ll play you a song.”

Leonard took a quick glance at his watch and sighed. It was almost time to pick up Joanna. He loved his daughter, but the weekly verbal assaults from his ex-wife were draining, and his daughter’s sad eyes, once so filled with laughter, tore at his heart more than any divorce ever could. He laid down a tip for Gaila and began to pull on his coat.

“Maybe next time, Jim. Got things I have to take care of.” It hurt him to leave Jim so suddenly after that cryptic statement, but if he stayed another minute he’d do something rash, and he didn’t want his baggage to add to that man’s. It might sink them both. 

Jim looked down, hiding the stupid swell of disappointment. “Yeah, sure, do what you need to! Here, take a dollar for the coffee. And hey, remember to walk by me tomorrow.”

“I don’t want your money. You can pay me with a song.” And with that McCoy left, half of him hoping that this would become more, and the other half terrified of that prospect. 

He thought about Jim on and off all day. One of the nurses’ eyes were so very similar that he checked her name tag for the surname Kirk. Another patient mentioned that he was glad that McCoy saved his frostbitten fingers because he needed them to play guitar. McCoy smiled, discharged the thankful man, and wrestled with the fact that the time was fast approaching that he would have to make a decision. 

Jim set up an hour before Bones would normally walk past. It wasn’t quite so cold, but Jim rubbed his hands together vigorously before taking off his gloves and getting out his guitar. He tuned it carefully, suddenly conscious that someone might listen this time. 

And soon enough, the doctor did indeed saunter up to him. “What are ya gonna play, kid?”

Jim smiled cheekily while picking out the tune to “Dixie.” “How’s that for a taste of home, doc?”

“Really funny, smartass.” 

Jim lifted his head, his smile fading from a cocky grin to a fonder smile that made McCoy want to strangle him. Bastard had no idea what that smile did to him. 

“Coffee?” Jim tilted his head in an infuriatingly endearing manner that made McCoy’s heart skip a beat. He liked to pretend not to crave affection, but it came out against his will at the most inconvenient of times. 

“Yeah, but if I’m paying for this again I want a better song tomorrow.”

“No, I’m paying for both. I’m not a completely indigent musician, I promise.” Coffee wasn’t so extravagant, and suddenly he wanted to help this doctor, befriend him…change the world with him. “And if you want a better song, you only have to make a request,” he said, gesturing primly to his open guitar case. “Think of me as a personable jukebox.”

They made the coffee a regular routine, accelerating rather quickly from every three or four days until they were meeting every day. Their thirteenth coffee date marked a change in Leonard McCoy. 

“I want you to meet my daughter.”

Jim nearly choked on his coffee. “Me? Your daughter? Why? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered, but you’re bringing a bum like me home to the family?”

“You’re not a bum, Jim. You’ve got a house. Wait, you do have a house, right?” McCoy played it off as a joke, but he honestly couldn’t recall Jim ever mentioning where he lived. “Plus, you’ve become important to me. Joanna is important to me.”

Jim tried not to beam too widely. “Important, eh? You’re not so bad yourself, I guess. I’d love to meet her, Bones, really.”

“Not so bad? I put up with your bullshit. We’re picking her up in twenty. She’s expecting you.”

Jim followed Bones to the parking garage where the doctor left his prized 1969 Camaro. “Damn, sweet ride. You never mentioned cars! My friend Scotty would kill to look under that hood.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Shut up and get in. I will not have you making us late.”

“Chill, we’re fine. I imagine this thing can go plenty fast.”

They drove into the suburbs to a picturesque elementary school. Hundreds of kids waited in small mobs outside the large double doors, some standing on tiptoe to find their parents in the crush of cars. The haggard teacher looked more than pleased to get Joanna off of her hands. 

“Jo, this is Jim.” Joanna was the spitting image of her father, and obviously adored him. 

“Hey there! I’m a…friend of your dad,” said Jim, offering his hand to the girl. 

She giggled. “Oh, I know, Mr. Kirk. My daddy talks about you sometimes. He says you’re real nice.”

Jim raised his eyebrows. “He does, does he? Well, he never told me. I’m lucky he told me about you even a little.”

“Well, Daddy doesn’t really like people. I’m glad he likes you though. You seem nice.”

McCoy smiled to cover up the intense red coloring his cheeks and scooped Joanna off her feet and into the back of the car. 

“That’s about enough of that, Jo. Jim I can drop you by your place.”

“Yeah, that’d be great, Bones. I don’t feel so hot, honestly.” What he meant was _I feel awful and riding for more than two minutes in this car would probably reduce me to puking rubble,_ but he didn’t want to worry Bones or Joanna unduly. “I live over on…” he swallowed hard, trying to force down rising bile, “excuse me, on 22nd Avenue. The Enterprise apartment complex. If you don’t mind taking me. I mean, it’s not really that far of a walk.”

Leonard revved the engine, waiting with feigned impatience for Jim to get in the passenger’s seat. He seemed paler than usual, and his normally sunny visage was darker and more somber. Must be the weather, McCoy decided. It had been very wet and rainy for a few days. He drove back to the city and came to a stop outside a rundown apartment complex. 

“It’s not much, but it’s home,” Jim said, quieter and sadder than he intended. “Rent’s low and the utilities work, so I can’t complain. Hey, kiddo, hope to see you again soon, okay?” Joanna nodded, sober as he felt. “Thanks for the ride, Bones.” 

Jim clambered out of the car, more slowly than he cared to admit, and heard as he left Joanna asking her father, “Daddy, why does Mr. Kirk call you Bones?” Jim smiled and took a deep breath before starting the long climb to his third-floor apartment. 

McCoy drove his daughter to his apartment. It was small, but presumably much nicer than Jim’s if the exterior was any indication of the state of the inside. He worried for Jim in that empty apartment. A man so filled with light should not be kept so long in the darkness of solitude. 

The next day McCoy worried for Jim throughout his shift. He was skilled in separating his turbulent life and work, but even that calm professionalism could not stop him from worrying. Jim hadn’t looked so good exiting the car the day before. Could have been the bad strand of flu that was making the rounds in emergency rooms all across the city. 

After clocking out, making his final rounds, checking in with a few of the head nurses, and assuring the parents of a child that their kid was fine, he finally headed out on the short walk to where Jim usually sat. He wasn’t there. 

The spot where he usually sat, where he had carved his name in small neat letters on the dirty brick, was empty. 

McCoy shook his head and skipped his daily coffee, heading instead back to the parking garage. Maybe Jim was feeling a bit under the weather. The moisture that lay thick in the air was not good for a sick man, worse even than the bitter cold of their first meeting 6 months before. 

He tried again the next day with the same results. None of the coffee shop employees had seen neither hide nor hair of him. 

“He’s probably just wandering the city for a while. You know artist types.” Gaila gave him his coffee on the house and offered to keep an eye out for him on her walk home. He drove back to his apartment, heart heavy. Jim was missing, and Joana was on vacation with her mother. His small apartment felt emptier and emptier by the hour. 

McCoy was anxious the third day. He avoided patients, choosing instead to do endless mountains of paperwork that he despised. He just couldn’t keep his mind on anyone long enough to be of any use. He’d clocked out and was leaving the hospital when a familiar voice drifted faintly from one of the wards. The door read "Cancer Treatment Ward." 

Jim sat down in the waiting area, trying to prepare himself for the day’s dose. It was futile, and he wished he had his guitar, wished he had a coffee, wished he was talking to Bones. It would all seem so much more manageable then, like he had a shot at making a proper life for himself. But under the dim florescent lights and the acrid smell of disinfectant, he couldn’t feel much of anything. 

He leaned his head back and stared blankly out the door, answered automatically the queries of a nurse, and went back to staring. Until a figure blocked the view. It was Leonard McCoy. 

Jim watched his face: first confusion, then shock, then a dejected emptiness. _Should have told him, should have told him,_ his thoughts clamored. _But I couldn’t have, it would have ruined it, just like it’s ruined me. Bones should never have known._

And when McCoy barged into the ward towards Jim, the first thing Jim could say was, “You should never have known.” He regretted it immediately. “I mean, not like this, not…not at all. This isn’t a part of me you should have to see. I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t think for the few seconds it took to reach Jim’s side. It couldn’t happen. It just couldn’t. That kind of shit happened in lifetime movies and bad soap operas. When you found someone you loved they weren’t already sick. They just weren’t. And they didn’t apologize for it. 

“Look, Bones, I never meant…this wasn’t intended as deceit, okay? I just…you’re the only person in my life who didn’t pity me. So thanks for that. Now please pretend this never happened and we can go back to the way things were for as long as I last.” Jim realized that his voice was on the verge of cracking, and that he wanted very much to cry. 

McCoy didn’t say anything for a minute. He meant to. A thousand words flooded his brain as Jim poured out his apology and desperate plea to return to normalcy, but they all felt fake or trite beyond reason. Jim stood, a desperate look in his eyes and tears imminent. McCoy spoke. 

“It’s gonna be okay.”

Jim started shaking. “It’s really not,” and finally the flood he’d held back for months broke forth and he sobbed. “This is ridiculous, I’m sorry,” he made out, trying to get control. But somehow he found himself in Bones’s arms crying into his shoulder. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“Shhhh, darlin’. It’s going to be okay. Trust me, I’m a doctor.” 

“You must be either really shitty or really crazy to believe in this mess.” And amid the tears that were blinding him, Jim felt lips pressed against his own. Bones twisted his fingers in Jim’s hair and didn’t let go until Jim’s laughter broke the embrace. “I don’t actually think you’re a shitty doctor,” Jim breathed. 

“The jury’s out on that one.” They both began to laugh, quietly at first and punctuated periodically with stifled sobs, but crescendoing until several nurses stopped to make sure they were okay. Jim leaned his head back down on Bones’s shoulder and shook with the strange mixture of laughter and sorrow. 

“I love you,” McCoy murmured into Jim’s hair.

Jim took a deep, steadying breath. “I think I love you too.”


End file.
